Untitled
by la petit lionne
Summary: It would seem to him that she had forgotten, and didn't quite grasp the severity of her transgression. But the possessions of one can not be owned by another without consequence and now, she must see the error of her ways.


**Just a quick little ficlet I wrote on my way to work a few weeks ago. Enjoy!**

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It was common practice for Martha Jones, to wake up in the middle of the night in a cold sweat. Of course, she woke in her warm, safe bed next to her warm, safe husband and not in a trench hiding from the Toclafane or watching people burned alive. She steadied her heartbeat and slipped quietly out of bed- though Tom never woke up anyway, heavy sleeper as he was.

She paddled quietly down the stairs to make her customary cup of chamomile, when she noticed the light in the kitchen on. _Funny_, she thought. The house had been dark when she went to sleep that night.

On her way to the kitchen, she grabbed the closest weapon at her disposal: a cordless phone. If need be, she could either call the authorities or beat the intruder to death with it. What she found shocked her more than a burglar ever could: a Time Lord leaning against her kitchen counter finishing a glass of red wine.

"Doctor?" She said quietly, lowering the phone from attack position. "What are you doing here?"

In lieu of an answer, he simply stared into his empty class. After a long silence, he spoke to her.

"I didn't think you'd actually do it. I thought you just wanted to get a rise out of me. But you really went off and got married." He scoffed bitterly.

"Doctor, what are you talking about?" Martha said making her way toward him. Something was off about him.

"Where's Donna?"

"Sleeping." Was his simple answer. He sat the glass on the counter and turned toward her. "Martha Jones, you've been a very naughty girl. You gave yourself to another man. Went and got yourself married while I was away." He hissed, taking her gently by the arm and turning her to face the counter.

Martha was confused. "Doctor, it's been over a year since I've seen you. I don't understand...Doctor what are you doing?" He pressed himself against her. Sandwiching her between his body and the hard edge of the counter.

"I found you first." He growled into her ear before pulling at it with his teeth. "That means you're mine. You belong to me, Martha." His hands grazed the bare strip of skin between the small tank top and the silky shorts she'd worn to bed.

"Martha Jones." As confounded as she was, she still loved the way he said her name. "Did you really think you could pretend to be someone so... Normal? That you could have a normal life with a normal job and a normal bloke? After all that we've seen? All that we've done?" His tongue traced the long line of her neck and she couldn't help it when his name slipped quietly from her lips. He let out a moan as he pressed himself closer to her. "No... You could never be ordinary. You're mine. I know you're mine, but you seem to have forgotten. So let me remind you." His hands began to explore her body unabashedly- claiming his territory. They slid down over her hips and back up, squeezing her breasts as his mouth worked on her neck.

"Doctor, I'm married." She protested weakly, though she knew she didn't want him to stop.

"Yes, and I'm willing to forgive you for that." He said, with no hint of a joke in his voice. "I can _taste_ time on you. You may be able to lie to yourself, but you can't lie to me."  
He slid one hand down her stomach and into the waistband of her shorts, feeling the wetness there. She moaned, pressing herself against his slowly moving hand.

"So wet." He whispered. "I know you only get this wet for me. Oh yes, we're going to make sure you never forget who you belong to. You were mine from the very beginning. Don't you _ever_ forget."

He plunged his fingers into her, massaging her clit with his thumb. Martha realized with a bit of amusement that his claims of ownership had never been more true than they were at this moment.

"Who do you belong to?"

"You." She didn't even hesitate.

"That's right, Martha. Me." His thrusts became more forceful and her moans became louder, she was no longer thinking of the sleeping man upstairs.

The Doctor's idle hand traveled upward, tracing her lips before three fingers pushed between them. She sucked at them eagerly as they worked in unison with his other hand- pushing in, pulling out. He moaned her name, getting lost in the melodic movements of her tongue. He continued to utter filthy encouragements in her ear as he felt the pressure build inside of her. Finally he pulled his fingers from her mouth and wrapped his arm around her waist, holding her tightly to him as he drove through her orgasm- only stopping when she slumped against him. When she recovered, she turned around to see him licking his fingers, fully composed while she was disheveled and breathless. He took her face in his hands and pulled her up so that she could look only at him.

"Tell me: who do you belong to?"

"You. Only you." She replied. She knew it was the truth.

"Good girl." He said before kissing her roughly. Their lips smashed together and their tongues danced heatedly, his hardness pressed against her stomach threatened to push them into another round. But just then, her mind went a bit fuzzy. She tried to open her eyelids but they just felt so heavy. Just before she slipped from consciousness, she heard him whisper, "_Never forget_."

She woke the next morning on the sitting room couch, a cool cup of chamomile tea on the floor at her side. She rubbed her eyes as the last remnants of her dream played over in her head. She could still feel that rush if heat in the pit of her stomach from when he'd touched her. She shook off the feeling and made her way to the kitchen to dump the cold tea. On the counter sat a wine glass with a bit of red still sitting at the bottom. It couldn't be a coincidence. Passing the sitting room mirror only confirmed her suspicions. The purple bruise that sat at the crook of her neck served as his tag; he'd claimed her. She was his.

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**Review, guys!**


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